Heresy
by plaidmonster
Summary: When all hopes of rebellion against the Capitol have been crushed, any sort of spark is heresy. That's why the Games have made it to the 100th year. It's time for a Quarter Quell... /M for violence and language
1. Unwanted

**Hi everyone! I am reposting this fic because I regained interest in it. Also, Emerald Snake is almost done, so I need something else to write that will take a lot of commitment. I need to practice keeping up with stories, haha! Anyways, this story will be told from two points of view, one pov per chapter.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

VIRA

I didn't volunteer for the Games. My parents chose me as a tribute, and strangely enough, not a single person in the crowd volunteered to take my place. In most districts, this would be normal behavior, but in mine, this is a rare situation; most citizens of "career" districts train illegally before the Games are even started yet. I should be proud that I am able to represent my district in this televised event, but something this year makes me nervous. I don't like Quarter Quells.

My name is Vira Dodge. I am a citizen of District 1, the wealthiest district in all of Panem, second only to the Capitol itself. After all, we are closest to the Capitol, and we make luxury items for its citizens, so of course we're all the government's lapdogs. There's nothing wrong with that in the Hunger Games—higher scores, more sponsors, higher probability of victory—but I'm not so sure I enjoy being a pet of the people that celebrate the death of twenty-three children.

I have no one to say goodbye to. It would take a whole lot of gall for my parents to come and fare me well, and my brother died in a Hunger Games not ten years ago. Only a decade or so after the Second War. No one speaks about that war anymore, because it's against the law and because no one really wants to bring it up.

Led by Katniss Everdeen of District 12 and Alma Coin of District 13, which was once believed to be obliterated, the thirteen districts rebelled for the second time against the Capitol. The rebels came out victorious, but in the end the Capitol was the winner. The rebels held a 76th Hunger Games with twenty-four Capitol children just to show the Capitol citizens how the districts felt about the Games, but after President Snow's own daughter came out triumphant, she convinced the Capitol that the new government consisted of hypocrites and liars and fools: they supposedly wanted to gain control and stop the Hunger Games' occurrence, yet they held another one directly after the Second War ended. What was to stop them from doing this again? And so the Capitol fought against the government to a point when the arguments were beginning to get violent. Elect a new president, the citizens demanded. They became even more upset when they found plans for a 77th Hunger Games. President Paylor was publicly executed, as were many other figureheads: Plutarch Heavensbee, Gale Hawthorne, Haymitch Abernathy. The ones that weren't executed were arrested. Others ran for it. District 13 was bombed again, this time with weapons that penetrated deep into their underground city and wiped out the entire population. It was not a pretty time.

To humiliate the former rebels further, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were forced to watch the public executions live. To my knowledge, they are still alive to this day—the Capitol kept them alive as examples to the districts, just like they had once done with District 13. I'm pretty sure they even have kids.

And guess who became president. As if all that wasn't enough, Snow's blood ran in the presidency of Panem still. Elise Snow was elected president of Panem at the age of eighteen. She promised a period of peace and prosperity for the country.

She lied.

"Time to go!" announces a Peacekeeper from outside this chamber they've locked me in. The hour after the Reaping, every tribute all over Panem gets time to say goodbye to their loved ones. I don't need it. I don't hold anyone close to my heart anymore. Not after today.

I stand up from my chair and realize how uncomfortable it was. I stretch out my back as I leave the room. I can hear two doors slam behind me, and suddenly my fellow District 1 tribute walks beside me. A group of white-coated Peacekeepers surrounds us on our way to the train that will take us to what might be our deaths.

"Hello, Vira," says Damian, suddenly leaning in very close to me. He's not a quiet person, so I try not to be annoyed at the volume of his voice in my ear. "How is your day?"

"How do you think?" I snap. I'm not one for stupidity or idle conversation. "I was just chosen for the Hunger Games! Not only that, but a Quarter Quell!"

"Exciting isn't it?" Damian comments, my angry tone not even bothering him. It's like I didn't even say anything. "I'm honored, personally. Not everyone gets this kind of chance."

"Lucky them," I growl under my breath. That way, at least, they won't have to deal with cocky Damian Clay. He pretends not to hear me even though we're two inches apart. Nice try.

District 1 has never really been home to me. Ever since my brother died, ever since my parents ceased caring about me, I lost a home with them, and the fire in my heart for them burned itself out. There's no reason to look back at the luxurious district, no reason to miss it, not the people, not the area, nothing. But I press my hands and cheek against the glass window of the smooth Capitol train anyway. The train fires up and speeds away, leaving the district far behind.

The last thing I see before we enter the tunnel is District 1's Justice Building, standing tall and pristine after all these years. As if a sign that the Capitol cannot be defied. That it is all-powerful.

There is no hope for a country like this.

* * *

**Sooo... what did you think? The chapters will certainly be brief, but there will be lots. As always, review with feedback/comments/questions! **

**Until next chapter,**

**~Plaid Monster**


	2. Television

**Here's the second chapter! They're coming quickly. I'm obsessed with the Hunger Games at the moment, soooo... :D**

* * *

CORA

The gray buildings of District 1 blur past the train. I am openly fascinated by the famously wealthy district, unlike my district partner. I'm trying to be as positive as possible about this potentially fatal trip to the Capitol, but Kanen is extremely downcast.

"Why does it matter what the districts look like?" he grumbles as I gaze out the window. The buildings seem close enough to touch.

"It's not like I'm ever going to see District 1 again, unless I win." I take my eyes off the district's skyscrapers for a heartbeat to snap at him. "So I might as well remember it." I turn my attention back to the clean streets and tall buildings.

I suppose I'm acting a little ridiculous; I do have a better chance of winning than tributes from, say, District 12, thanks to my Career status. However, District 1 tributes almost always come out on top.

And if I do lose, it's of my own fault. I was not forced onto this sleek train, with its crystal chandeliers and top-notch service. No, I was a volunteer this year.

Volunteering probably wasn't the smartest choice. I have a bad habit of acting before I think, and that's exactly what I did. Not to say I'm dumb or slow-witted—no, I'm fairly intelligent, or at least more so than most of my classmates. I'm just that kind of person that doesn't look before she leaps.

But I couldn't help it. I couldn't stand to watch that little girl be taken away from her family. It's just not fair.

Trying to clear my mind of the grim thoughts, I shake my head as if to physically shake off the memory of the reaping and leave my spot beside the window for my room in the next car.

I did not live in the slums in District 4, but my room on the car is by far much fancier and more comfortable. The bed I sleep in is a softer material than even the most comfortable bed in District 1, I bet. I sit down on it and pick up the television remote on my bedside table, point it at the TV screen, and press the power button. I decide to pay attention to the reaping, because if I want to win, and I do, then I'll need to know my competition.

The girl from District 1 is not very friendly looking—she eyes the cameras sullenly as she passes them by—but not very threatening either, with no huge muscles or height. Her district partner—was it Damian?—is a different story. He must be two feet taller than me, not that that's saying much, and his biceps bulge as he approaches the stage and says his name confidently, but arrogantly, into the microphone.

A tall but skinny boy from 2; a small, clever-looking girl with mousy brown hair from 3. Neither of them looks as threatening as Damian of 1.

Then comes District 4. My body stiffens involuntarily at the sight of the town square. I can hear the tide rising and falling on the shore in the background, and when I close my eyes, I can almost imagine the feeling of the sand between my toes, a gentle sea breeze caressing my face, the salty smell of the water as it laps at the sand. The illusion is so real that I almost believe it, but when I open my eyes, all I see is my train bedroom, the television still replaying the day's events. I remember how much space I had to run on the beach, when I had all the time in the world to spend with my older brother and our friends. Now I suppose I might never see that again. Suddenly my bedroom on the Capitol train doesn't seem so spacious.

The TV is flashing the tributes from District 6 now. Sighing desolately, I turn my hazel eyes back on the screen. These tributes aren't quite as interesting as the first ones, but the next couple districts have something to offer in the way of intrigue: a skinny yet proud-looking volunteer girl from 8; a huge, angry guy from 9; a weak-looking young boy from 11 whose helpless cries haunt my brain.

That boy from 11… he must be only twelve years old. I shudder at the memory of my reaping: my next door neighbor, clinging to her only daughter, whom is barely of reaping age. The girl, reaching desperately for her mother and father as the Peacekeepers lift her up and drag her into the aisle. Me, stepping forward and blocking their progression without even realizing what I was doing. The words that will keep little Miriam safe coming out of my mouth, an instinct. Me, at center stage, speaking my name into the microphone with no inflection. My best friend in the crowd, his features twisted by disbelief and pain.

_On the 100th annual Hunger Games, in order to show the districts how their actions can affect their descendants, all parents will be eligible for the reaping and must pick one of their children to become a tribute._

After the reaping my mother was the first visitor. We were locked in a tight embrace for most of our time together, and I clearly remember her parting words: _Don't you ever give up, Cora Freebird. I'm going to be waiting for your return, you hear me?_

And I won't. I will never give in, but that doesn't necessarily mean I'll be victorious.

Finally, the District 12 tributes are about to be selected. Once upon a time, these tributes were usually weak and helpless, and were often killed in the initial bloodbath. But after Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark's victory, this district has become a force to be reckoned with—rumors are always flying around about how Katniss supposedly trains the young girls and boys in preparation for the Games. They have been a part of the Career districts, more or less, since the 78th Hunger Games.

That's why I find myself leaning in towards the screen, paying close attention to the names called and any possible weaknesses in the tributes.

"Ladies first!" The District 12 escort trots over to the girls' bowl of names and buries her arm in the slips of paper. A hush falls over the crowd as the escort reads the name.

"Katniss Everdeen!" calls a very young woman wearing a frilly pink dress and a curly orange wig. She looks expectantly at the crowd of girls, too dim to realize whose name she just pulled out of the jar.

A shriek can be heard from the back of the crowd, where the adults stand. The cameras pan, surveying the scene, until they stop on a slim, muscular woman with her brown hair in a braid. Her expression is one of pure terror, as if she were the one going into the Games. But no, she will not be going into the arena this year; based on the circumstances of this year's Quell, one of her children must become a tribute, a piece in the Capitol's Games.

Her scream is filled with anguish. It tears at my heart, the noise. The screen splits in half, and two people appear on the screen: one teenage boy, tall, muscular, but gentle looking, with gray eyes. And on the other side, a girl about my age—fourteen? Fifteen?—with dark skin and hair. Her blue eyes shine with intelligence. A different name appears beneath each tribute: _Oliver Mellark _is the boy's name, and _Kera Mellark _is the girl's.

This means Katniss has a choice: she may choose between Oliver and Kera, her son and her daughter, which one will become a tribute and which one stays home. If she chooses Kera, the next parent reaped must choose their son; if she chooses Oliver, the next parent must pick their daughter. I can see now why she is so pained. She has to select which child's life to risk. I'm assuming she'll pick whomever she thinks has the best chance of survival, but the choice will still be difficult—she knows what it's like from personal experience.

It's as if her heresy against the Capitol years ago is coming back to bite her in the ass.

In minutes, the small teenager is on the stage, murmuring "Kera Mellark" into the microphone. The cameras zoom in on her face. She is almost devoid of expression, but I can see a faint trace of determination, confidence in her features. Her eyes are no longer glimmering with intelligence; now they flash with resilience.

She will not be forgotten in these Games.

* * *

**Tell me what you think in a review! Keep reading!**

**~Plaid Monster**


End file.
